


The Two Miss Spellmans

by MinervaFan



Series: The Sisters Spellman [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: An excuse to indulge my unnatural fascination with historical hair-styling videos, Angst, Complex relationships, F/F, Hilda's love of bodice-rippers comes from a real place, Mistaken Identity, Quadrille dancing - look it up, Spellcest, Stupid ridiculous Victorian mores, corsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:54:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20228167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaFan/pseuds/MinervaFan
Summary: A story, in five parts, about how Hilda found the courage to become...well, Hilda.





	The Two Miss Spellmans

**Author's Note:**

> This story builds on the events of other stories I've written, most notably Playlist and Daguerreotypes, Herbal Cures, and Vegetable Stew.
> 
> Playlist: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095300  
Daguerreotypes, Herbal Cures, and Vegetable Stew: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727078/chapters/44419405
> 
> Thanks to the ladies at Together-As-Sisters for their encouragement.

**Part One**

_ In which Miss Spellman the Younger prepares for a ball, and Miss Spellman the Elder expresses her concern. _

Miss Hildegard Spellman did not consider herself unaccomplished. She played the piano and harpsichord excellently and sang in a clear, sweet voice. She could speak credible French and Italian, and her Latin was strong. She could make sweet cakes as well as anyone, and her potion and spellwork were beyond reproach.

So how is it that a simple hairpin would be her undoing?

She slammed the silver hairbrush onto the vanity before once again undoing the chignon in disgust. 

“I’ll remind you that both the hairbrush  _ and  _ vanity are family heirlooms, Sister, and ought not be abused in such a manner.” Miss Zelda Spellman, the elder of the two Spellman sisters, looked on from her vantage point in the doorway with amusement. “A simple glamour would be far easier than this archaic method of grooming.”

“And  _ you’ll _ know, Sister, that I cannot maintain a proper glamour in large crowds for long periods of time….”

“Due to your unfortunate empathy…”

Hilda glared at her sister’s reflection in the vanity mirror. “ _ Not _ unfortunate. Just difficult. And…”

“And since you  _ insist _ upon cavorting with mortals in this unseemly manner, a failed glamour would be more than just horribly embarrassing.” She crossed the room in a few long strides, full skirts swishing as she did. “Here, let me help.”

Now, accepting her sister’s help in this endeavor was hardly what Hilda desired, but the carriage from the Bentens’ would arrive in an hour, and she was nowhere near ready. “Thank you,” she muttered as Zelda began to untangle the mess she’d made of her long golden tresses.

“At least you have good hair to work with,” Zelda said graciously as she accepted the horse-hair brush from her sister. With long, steady strokes, she had the hair soft, shining, and completely knot-free in moments. “Can I assume you were smart enough to heat the curling wand in advance?”

“I’m not a child, Zelda.” Her elder sister responded with a most discourteous snort. “Yes, it’s heated.” 

“Good.” With the thin end of a comb, Zelda parted Hilda’s hair vertically to separate the front sections on either side, clipping them together under her sister’s chin. Then she parted the hair horizontally across the back, leaving a fall at the neck and twisting the top part expertly into a bun which she secured with several pins. “When I tell you to, hand me the wax paper. Have the wand ready.”

She partitioned off the remaining hair, twisting the strands as she went, wrapping them in waxed paper triangles, and pressing the paper between the tongs of the heating wand. Within minutes, she had Hilda’s curls set in a halo of dangling wax paper triangles. “Now, we let that cool. Go to my room and get my extra corset. I’ll help you dress.”

Hilda shook her head. “I don’t need a corset. My cornflower blue dress fits me perfectly.”

There were many things in this world that one might consider a blessing and a gift. The ire of Miss Zelda Spellman was not on that list. Her eyes flashed and several auburn curls trembled as she turned in shock. “By Satan’s name, you most certainly will not. This may be a mortal function, but you are still a Spellman. And no Spellman will be seen at any society event dressed as a common charwoman!”

“It’s a  _ lovely _ frock,” Hilda insisted.

“It’s a travesty. You will wear my rose-colored taffeta  _ and _ a proper corset, or you shall attend Caroline Benten’s engagement ball dressed in a pinafore and barrel curls, with a giant lollipop to mark you as the child you are.”

In all her years, Hilda had never known her sister to make idle threats, and while the idea of reliving her childhood held a certain appeal, it would embarrass dear Caroline and the rest of the party guests. “Oh, all right…” She pulled her dressing robe around her and ran to retrieve the corset and gown as instructed.

When she returned, Zelda positioned her in front of Great-Grandmother Gardiner’s full length mirror, standing behind the shorter woman as she fussed with the corset. Hilda watched her cautiously, trying not to think too much about how much she enjoyed such unimportant things as, oh, breathing. With expert dexterity, Zelda slipped the pre-laced corset around Hilda’s torso and set it in place. 

“Not too tight,” Hilda warned as she closed the fasteners down the front of the busk.

“It will be set properly and not an inch looser, Sister,” Zelda insisted as she began to pull, tightening the laces. She grunted and stopped. “Hildegard, if you are going to dress like an adult, at least  _ be _ an adult.” She turned her sister around, adjusting the busk of the corset to lift and display Hilda’s bosom more prominently. Hilda could feel the blush starting at the top of her head as Zelda adjusted her. It stretched all the way down her body as the elder sister began pulling again on the laces. When she was finally bound to Zelda’s satisfaction, she looked at herself in the mirror.

Even with the wax paper curls cooling around her face, she could see where Zelda’s intentions were. An hour-glass frame, full bosom, curving hips, golden tresses curling. Hilda blushed again, knowing that Zelda’s lovely rose frock would only emphasize the curves she already possessed. A thrill ran through her, focused in her belly, as she imagined the fun she would have at the ball. “I can’t breathe,” was all she could say.

“Here,” Zelda said indulgently. She placed a hand on either side of Hilda’s bound waist, whispering a soft spell in Latin. In a heartbeat, the younger Miss Spellman could breathe again without, she noted, a single change in her appearance. “One day, if you’re very good, I’ll teach you that spell. Now. There’s not much I can do about your complexion.”

“What’s wrong with my complexion?”

Zelda frowned. “You spend all day in the sun like a common field laborer. There’s only so much powder can help.” She brushed a strand of blonde hair out of her sister’s face. “A little lip rouge and some eye kohl should be enough. Your curls have cooled. Sit down and I’ll finish the set.”

She sat Hilda back down at the vanity, freeing the delicate ringlets to fall one by one in a golden cascade around her face. A quick tease at the temples for body, and Zelda pulled the mass of ringlets around the bun, pinning them in place expertly. She then decorated the lot with the lovely glass spider pins Edward had given Hilda for her 20th birthday. “There,” she said as she spelled the mirror to give Hilda a back view.

“Oh, Zelds! Thank you, thank you!” Hilda clapped her hands in delight, turning to embrace her older sister. “It’s perfect.” 

“Let me help you into the dress, then I’ll finish up your face,” Zelda said indulgently into her sister’s cheek. As Hilda slipped into the gown, which fit perfectly thanks to the corset, Zelda continued. “Hilda, are you sure you want to attend this event? Mortals are...very different from witch society.”

Hilda laughed. “I’ve known Caroline for ages, and her aunt and uncle have agreed to chaperon me. You needn’t worry.”

“Does she know you were her age when her mother was still a child?”

Hilda frowned. “It’s not like that. She’s a friend. And it doesn’t matter, because mortals mature differently than we do.” She took Zelda’s hands in hers. “They’re  _ good _ people, Zelds. Kind. Well-bred. I’ll be  _ fine _ .” 

Zelda’s frown indicated she did not agree with her younger sister’s assessment of her own social prowess. “I am sure the Bentens  _ are _ good people. But mortals have...odd ways. They have rules, Sister, and I do not know if you truly understand them.” She smoothed out the dress, adjusting the folds of the neckline that draped languidly across Hilda’s decolletage. “For instance, if a mortal man were to…” She hesitated, something Miss Spellman the Elder was  _ not _ inclined to do. “I mean, you  _ are _ an eligible young lady, and these mortals have strange views on sexuality.”

Hilda rolled her eyes, turning back to the mirror to adjust the curls at her temples. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sister.”

“It’s  _ normal _ to have urges, Hilda. I just warn you not to get carried away if any of these mortal men tries to seduce you. They have strict rules about such things, practically  _ barbaric _ in comparison to our witching society. What would be just a lovely evening’s frolic to us could be potentially ruinous in that mortal society you care so much about.” She took Hilda’s hands in her own, looking straight into her eyes. “Personally, I’d be happy if you spent far less time with these mortals. But they matter to you, and I’d hate for you to have your heart broken by them.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. “Miss Hilda? The carriage is here.”

Hilda almost hopped with delight. “Thank you, Marjorie. I’ll be right down,” she called through the door. To Zelda, she added, “Where are my gloves and my wrap?”” 

“On the vanity, where you left them. Hilda, I am serious. You are not dealing with coven members. These are barbaric, uncivilized, sexually frustrated, mortal men. You’re like honey to a bear cub.”

Hilda laughed as she draped the wrap around her shoulders. “Don’t worry so much, Zelds. It’s just a dance. Nothing bad is going to happen.” And with another kiss to the air in Zelda’s general direction, she was out of the door and down the stairs to the awaiting carriage.

“This is not going to end well,” Zelda said to the empty room.

**Part Two**

_ In which Miss Hilda Spellman is introduced to a charming officer named Phineas Winston. _

It seems, in fact, that Zelda was more knowledgeable about the rules of mortal society than Hilda would have cared to admit. She enjoyed the carriage ride immensely, especially upon arriving at the hall. Oh, the lights and decorations and colors! The ladies in their dresses, all the colors of a summer day, with tulle and gauze and glittering baubles everywhere the eye could see. The gentlemen in their waistcoats, the shimmering suits, gleaming white cravats, so stylish and dashing. Although she found it wonderful to behold, Miss Spellman indeed felt a bit overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of it all.

Mr. Benten, after helping Hilda and his wife from the carriage, removed himself as they adjourned to the ladies’ sitting room to adjust their hair and gowns and engage with the other ladies in attendance. Mrs. Benten, a stout woman of indeterminate age, was kind, if distant, complimenting the young Miss Spellman on her appearance and the fine details of her gloves and gown. However, as soon as they were in the company of other women, Hilda could feel her mood shift. Within moments, she was surrounded by complete strangers.

She looked for Caroline, who as bride-to-be would certainly be in attendance, but could not find her. As Mrs. Benten made the obligatory introductions, Hilda felt her confidence fading under each successive young lady’s appraising gaze. By the time the floor managers gave the orders for the orchestra to commence, the knot in her stomach was a tangible thing. She smiled as she was led into the ballroom with the other unescorted ladies. She curtsied to Sir Malcolm and Mrs. Benten, barely containing her joy when at last she spied Caroline, resplendent in a radiant blue gown, at the end of the receiving line. When at last they met, Caroline clasped both Hilda’s hands in hers.

“Oh, Hilda, my darling, you came!” Miss Caroline Benten, at seventeen, looked every bit the proper Victorian lady with her deep, coal-colored hair piled high atop her head. Her pale skin practically glowed with health and vitality, cheeks blushed slightly as young women in love often do. 

“Of course I came, dear Caroline,” Hilda accepted the kiss to her cheek her friend offered. “I would never miss your engagement ball.” 

“Mr. Peterson has disappeared off to heaven-knows-where, or I would introduce you immediately as my bosom friend.” Caroline embraced Hilda again. “Your dress is divine!” she whispered into Hilda’s ears. “I promise to seek you out later, so we can have a proper chat.”

Hilda smiled, shrugging slightly as she moved along to retrieve her dance card. As hostess, Caroline could hardly seem to show favorites, and Hilda was suddenly aware that, with the exception of Caroline and a few members of her immediate family, she knew practically no-one at the ball. She’d never even met the groom-to-be, having only heard of him through Caroline’s enthusiastic descriptions.

As the young men mingled, making introductions for friends, signing dance cards, and following the intricate patterns of mortal society, Hilda felt herself getting more and more uncomfortable. The air was thick with emotion--excitement, jealousy, desire--so many conflicting feelings converging over the otherwise benign and genteel party-goers crowded throughout the hall. Despite her initial excitement, she was beginning to wonder if Zelda had been right about attending tonight. 

As the trumpets gave the signal for the dancers to assemble, Hilda found herself inching back towards the wall with the other fading flowers, her dance card completely empty. The music and dancing commenced without the participation of one Miss Spellman, and continued through not one, but three full dances without a single invitation to join.

As she wilted amongst the other wallflowers--the plain, the dull, the poorly dressed younger sisters of more popular girls--Hilda could not help but feel the increasing waves of pity from the happy dancers observing their shame as they glided by. She’d stupidly positioned herself as far as possible from the table crowded with lovely refreshments, so she couldn’t even drown her shame in  _ petit fours _ without crossing a gauntlet of dazzling society first.

She was just starting to formulate a plan of escape, possibly involving explosive magic and obfuscation, when Sir Malcolm made his way through the throng, accompanied by a tall gentleman. To her horror, it was clear the two gentlemen were heading directly towards her. She felt a blush forming just at her cheeks, a pink-hot sensation of mortification that spread swiftly down her face, throat, and decolletage. 

“Ah, the lovely Miss Spellman,” Sir Malcolm said before she could transform herself into a moth and fly into oblivion. “I have been remiss in my duties as host. I hope you are enjoying yourself this evening.” 

“Absolutely, Sir Malcolm,” she lied with a half-hearted curtsey. 

“I wish to acquaint you with a fine young gentleman, recently retired from Her Majesty’s Army, Mr. Phineas Winston.”

Mr. Winston bowed gallantly, his posture impeccable. Even though Hilda knew this was mere courtesy on the part of her host, whose duty it was to ensure all ladies got to dance (even the ridiculous ones in borrowed dresses), she couldn’t help but admire Mr. Winston’s appearance.

He was tall, but not too tall. Just enough to look up to, with a solid build and healthy complexion. His face was lean, but not gaunt, with bright intelligent hazel eyes. His waistcoat was fitted perfectly, his cravat gleaming white at his neck, and his physique was strong and fit without being overt. When he smiled down at her, his teeth were white and even and dazzling. 

“Miss Spellman, I am charmed.” He leaned over and kissed her gloved hand politely, and Hilda actually felt her stomach spin slightly about itself. “Would you be so kind as to do me the honor of sharing a dance with me?”

She knew it was considered the height of bad form to refuse an offered dance. And even though part of her reeled at the thought of receiving an invitation for charity’s sake, Hilda could not take her eyes off him. Even combed neatly, there was a bit of wildness in Mr. Winston’s auburn hair, the slightest air of challenge in his perfectly measured words. She opened herself to his emotions, stunned when she could feel nothing more than a true desire to dance with her.

“Mr. Winston, I would be delighted,” she said, barely audible above the music and laughter.

But Mr. Winston heard, and with a grace she’d never expect from a former military man, swept Hilda out into the dance.

**Part Three**

_ In which a patio, moonlight, and Mr. Winston have an unnerving effect on Miss Hilda Spellman. _

“I fear, Miss Spellman, that I have committed the worst of social atrocities tonight.” Mr. Winston guided her onto the patio, balancing two small plates of food expertly. There were lovely wrought-iron benches everywhere, many occupied with couples speaking quietly under the moonlight. He gestured to an available bench, and she sat obediently, carefully relieving him of his burden so he could sit beside her. 

“How so, Mr. Winston?”

“I have monopolized the prettiest girl at the party, with utter contempt for my fellow gentlemen who might wish to dance with her.” He smiled at her blush, accepting his plate and taking a quick bite of sandwich. After a quick sip of his champagne, he added, “I was horribly selfish.”

Hilda smiled sweetly at his comments.. They’d danced every dance together after that first. Unthinkable, terrible manners, but she found she didn’t care one bit. “In that case, you must send a sincere note of apology to the wall I was keeping company before you rescued me.”

“I shall post it first thing in the morning,” he promised, a twinkle in his eye belying his serious tone. 

They ate quietly together for a moment. Hilda could only imagine what Caroline would say if she knew she was bold enough to eat in front of a gentleman she barely knew. She wanted to laugh. When she’d been alone, she’d been subjected to the scrutiny of everyone in the room it seemed. But once a gentleman deigned to dance with her, Hilda had become practically invisible. No one, not even the girls who had eyed her cattily at first, seemed to even notice her.

Or maybe she just didn’t care. Mr. Winston was an impeccable dancer. He smiled at her, made eye contact, even maintained small talk as they danced the quadrille together. No matter which gentleman held her hand, it was only Mr. Winston she could feel. His eyes on her, even as the intricate dance spun them from partner to partner.

“You seem pensive, Miss Spellman,” he said. 

She blushed. “I beg your pardon, sir. My experience in society is somewhat...lacking.”

“I am told you are from America.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Not quite, really. I was born here, but my family does have a home and business in New England.” 

His eyebrows lifted. “Ah, and what sort of business if I may ask?”

“Promise not to get spooked?”

“I assure you, miss, that a former member of Her Majesty’s Armed Forces does not get... _ spooked _ .”

“Spellman’s Mortuary. Rituals, Rites, and Funerals.” 

He nodded. “Honest work. And that might explain the curious hair ornamentation.” He gestured as if to touch imaginary spider pins at the crown of his head.

“Oh, my spiders!” She laughed. “They were a gift from my brother. I have a special fondness for the clever little things.”

He laughed. “You are quite extraordinary! Most ladies would never admit such a thing, yet here you are!”

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “My elder sister considers me quite hopeless, I assure you. But I simply do not understand why people must pretend to be what they are not. I am many things, many good and useful things. But…” she lifted her eyebrows and gestured back at the party. “Good at this sort of thing? Not very.”

“Well, I find you utterly charming.”

“That, as my sister is fond of reminding me, is often the only thing that keeps me out of trouble.”

“Is your sister here tonight?”

Hilda hesitated. “She...travels in different circles than I do.”

“I see…” His eyes narrowed slightly. “What is she like, this sister of yours?”

At this, Hilda laughed. “Well, if there is a space in humanity as far as possible from who I am, that is where you’ll find Zelda!” She took another sip of her champagne, then a nibble of the strawberry on her plate. “She is smart, beautiful, sophisticated, sharp as a blade and bright as the sun.” She sighed. “It’s only the accident of gender that holds her back from the prominence she so rightly deserves.”

This seemed to take Mr. Winston aback. “You sound as if you’ve read Miss Wollstonecraft’s book.”

Hilda laughed again. “I have, actually, but no doubt Zelda understood the intricacies better than I did. I make no claim of intellectualism, sir. My wisdom is practical, things to be seen and touched and measured and nurtured. My sister is the philosopher of the family, she and my brother who is…” She paused, looking for the mortal equivalent before speaking. “Studying in seminary back in Massachusetts. Oh, the theological arguments those two had!” She blushed as Mr. Winston studied the smile on her face curiously.

“You love your family very much, do you not, Miss Spellman?”

That got a short laugh. “Well, of course, I love them. We don’t always see eye to eye, possibly because I’m so very much shorter than everyone else, but that just makes things more interesting.”

They laughed again and proceeded to finish their refreshments in companionable silence. When they were done, Mr. Winston gathered the plates and excused himself momentarily to hand them to a passing server. “Now, you must stroll with me. I’m told Sir Malcolm’s garden actually contains a labyrinth. Dare you attempt to walk it with me?”

“I’m told such places are the realm of mystical beings,” Hilda teased as she took his offered arm. “You never know what you might find at the end of a labyrinth.” She felt her breath catch as he placed his hand over hers, offering a warm, firm pressure. “Fortunately, I am in the company of a brave soldier who will protect me.”

“You may be disappointed,” he laughed. “I was commissioned a member of the Royal Corps of Engineers. Unless said mystical being requires a bridge to be designed or a road constructed, I shall be of little use to you.”

“I am certain we’ll manage,” she reassured him as they strolled under the moonlight through the garden. 

The labyrinth itself was a simple path cut into the lawn, intricate and beautiful for its very simplicity. This was no hedge maze to fear, no Minotaur waiting to devour them should they lose their way. In fact, Mr. Winston and Miss Spellman, to their utter delight, found the maze completely uninhabited except for the two of them. They began to trace their way around the path, each step bringing them a deeper sense of tranquility as they wandered together. Moments stretched out, moonlight and fresh air and the music in the distance weaving together around them. Time seemed to lose its meaning, and Hilda felt herself sink deeper and deeper into a dreamlike state. 

The center of the labyrinth brought them face to face, Hilda looking up into her suitor’s eyes expectantly. When he leaned to kiss her, he met with no resistance, no hesitation, no doubt.

“Hilda,” he whispered against the rose of her lips. 

She silenced him with another kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she lost all sense of place and time. All that mattered were the feelings in her stomach, the thrill chasing through her skin and nerves and flesh. All that mattered was this, and now, and what his kisses made her feel. What his body felt like against hers.

When the kiss finally broke, she leaned her cheek against his chest, reveling in the strength of his hands at the small of her back.

“Fortunately for you, I cast a shielding spell before we entered the labyrinth,” she heard. 

Hilda’s eyes shot up. Where Mr. Winston’s handsome face should have been, she saw the knowing look of superiority only her sister Zelda could muster.

“You!” She pushed away, heart pounding, fury rising in her chest. “You!!”

“I warned you, little sister. I warned you not to come here.”

Rage and humiliation roared through Hilda’s veins. She could not tell whether she wanted to cry or scream or strike her sister. “How  _ could _ you?”

“How could I not? One evening with a good-looking mortal and you are ready to give yourself to him. Did I not  _ warn _ you about mortal men? Did I not  _ warn _ you about--”

Hilda slapped her sister soundly across the face, the pain in her hand nothing compared to the pain in her heart.

They said no more to each other as Zelda dropped the rest of the glamour completely, restoring her own regal features as Mr. Phineas Winston disappeared into the magical ether, never to be seen again.

**Part IV**

_ In which Miss Spellman the Elder and Miss Spellman the Younger reveal secrets they have never before shared. _

The house in Grosvenor Square had been in the family for generations. And while the remaining Spellmans had scattered to the four corners of the globe in recent years, Spellman House was kept in the family, occupied most consistently by Marjorie, the old housekeeper, and her husband Geoffrey, who had been caretaker of the house since before Zelda and Hilda’s parents had been born.

The smaller room on the third floor traditionally went to the younger daughters, and it was to this room that Hilda retreated immediately upon her return from the Bentens'. She said nothing in response to Marjorie's good-natured greeting and shut the door behind her, practically slamming it in Zelda’s face. 

The gown, the hair, her smart kid boots--none of the posh Miss Spellman survived her rampage as she dropped, pulled, and kicked off every bit of the night. She hesitated when she was down to her corset and undergarments. The hesitation did not survive the memory of Zelda’s smug face and with a quickly muttered spell every lace of Zelda’s corset was in shreds at her feet, along with the shell of the corset itself.

She sat at the vanity, using a sponge to remove the kohl and what was left of the lip rouge. Her hair was a mess of tangles, curls struggling to maintain in the wake of the night’s events. She pulled the brush through it hard, twisting the long tresses into a single braid down her side, which she tied off with a single ribbon. A quick trip to the chamber pot, slip into her nightgown, and she was in bed. She extinguished the lamp, uncertain if she’d ever leave this room again.

In the grey-dark of the room, the sounds of the house were more pronounced. The creaking of the walls and floors. The wind through the ailanthus trees that lined the yard. She could even hear the skittering of her familiars in their terrarium, their tiny voices reaching out to her in concern. But she could not bear even their sweet comfort as tears began to burn down her cheeks.

She did not sob. Hilda Spellman refused to sob, or wail, or allow any theatrics into this moment. The pain was too real, too raw to be spoiled by such antics. So she lay there, motionless, as the salty streaks formed on her skin and every moment of the evening flashed before her eyes in horrific detail.

When the knock came on the door, she did not answer. Her voice was trapped, along with her hope and dignity, somewhere far beneath the scar tissue of her psyche. After a moment, a sliver of light cracked the darkness.

“I’ve brought you some tea, Sister.” Zelda stood in the doorway. Even though Hilda made no move to look at her or acknowledge her presence, she knew her sister presented a striking silhouette against the light. “It will help you sleep,” Zelda continued, as if the conversation were proceeding normally, as if her delightful, compliant sister lay in the bed before her rather than this husk of a person she’d created in Sir Malcolm’s garden.

When no response came, Zelda placed the tray on the nightstand. “Hilda…” 

Silence, from both of them. Zelda sighed, slipping into the bed behind her sister. She wore a simple cotton gown, her own hair pulled in a braid to the side. “Hilda,” she repeated softly, pulling her sister into her arms. “Please don’t cry.”

A loud sniff was the only answer to her plea.

Zelda sighed, easing tighter into the embrace. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never intended…” 

Hilda could feel her warm breath on her hair, the protective arms around her waist. The unmistakable scent of tobacco and Zelda, perfume and superiority. “Did  _ any _ of them actually want to dance with me?” she heard her own shaky voice ask. “Even one of them?”

There was a long pause before Zelda spoke. “I put an obscuring spell on the dress. To keep the mortals from noticing you.”

Hilda nodded. “Clever. Clever spell.” There was no inflection in her voice. There was nothing left to feel, and no spirit with which to force herself.

“I only wanted to protect you.”

“I know.” She drew in a long breath, but said no more.

“Please be angry,” Zelda sighed. “Yell at me. Slap me again. Anything but this.” She rested her cheek against Hilda’s hair, whispering, “I can’t bear this.”

Hilda didn’t respond. So they lay there, in silent regret, for a long, long time. Eventually, Hilda felt herself moving. She rolled over onto her other side, face to face in Zelda’s arms. In the dim light, she could see the tear stains on her sister’s face. “Do you remember Paris? When we went for Cousin Gwen’s Dark Baptism?”

“Vaguely. It was...decades ago. Why?”

Hilda gazed into Zelda’s distraught face, her own expression impassive as she spoke. “It was the first time you invited me to join...your frolics, as you called them.”

Zelda nodded, remembering. “You never came.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Hilda said. “I did. I showed up, and you weren’t there.” She began to tremble in her sister’s arms as the memory of that day washed over her. “You weren’t there. You promised you would be, and you weren’t.”

The venom in Zelda’s voice might have frightened another person, one who had not gone numb from shame and humiliation. “Who did something to you? Give me a name, HIlda, and I will seek them out and destroy them.” When an answer was not forthcoming, she pulled away, looking straight into Hilda’s blue eyes. “Who hurt you?  _ Who _ insulted you?”

Hilda shrugged under the intense scrutiny. “No one,” she murmured. “No one hurt me. No one insulted me. I walked into the room and saw...saw what was happening. Everything stopped, and they all looked at me.” She closed her eyes, unable to meet Zelda’s frantic gaze. “I  _ felt _ them. Felt their...how they... _ saw me.” _

“Hilda?”

“Felt their...they were…” She leaned forward into Zelda’s arms, her face buried in the warmth of her sister’s neck. “It was too much. It was too much, and I was overwhelmed, and they kept looking at me.” She shook in Zelda’s embrace, soaking in the compassion her sister could never completely hide from her. “I felt so exposed, and you weren’t there. You must have stepped out for a moment. And I just...couldn’t. I couldn’t bear the way they felt, how  _ I _ felt. I wanted to stay, but...but it was just…”

“Shhhh….” Zelda placed gentle kisses on the top of Hilda’s head, breathing sounds of comfort and safety into the night air. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I wanted it. I really did.” Hilda looked up at her sister, a tiny defiance flickering in the hollow spot at the base of her tummy. “I  _ do _ want... _ that _ .”

“You can’t even say it, Sister,” Zelda teased.

“But I can still want it. Just not so  _ much _ of it…all at once.” For the first time since that moment in garden, Hilda felt her breath again. She felt the beating of her heart. She felt safe, here in her sister’s arms. “I don’t know how you can bear it.”

“I don’t have your gifts.”

“My ‘unfortunate’ gifts…”

“No, not unfortunate. Just...challenging.” Zelda kissed the top of her head again.

Hilda sighed. “He was so nice.”

“Who was?”

She looked up, an embarrassed expression in her soft blue eyes. “Mr. Winston. He was nice. And kind. I liked him.”

“Hilda,” Zelda reminded her gently. “He was a fiction. A mirage.”

“He was a  _ nice _ mirage.”

Zelda laughed, squeezing her tightly. “What shall I do with you, child?”

Hilda smiled, meeting her eyes. “I’m not a child. You’ve reminded me of that several times.”

“You’re a babe in the woods.”

Hilda shook her head, took a deep breath, and leaned up to press her lips against Zelda’s. “Not a babe in the woods,” she whispered against soft lips. She kissed her again, deeper this time. “He had kind eyes, just like yours. A brilliant mind, just like yours. He was strong…” She kissed Zelda again. “Just. Like.” Another kiss as she stroked her hand down the other woman’s waist. “You.”

“Hilda…” The word was a breath, a heartbeat, a sigh against her skin. “Are you sure?”

The younger Miss Spellman dropped every shield, every barrier she had ever built, and opened herself to the desire in the elder Miss Spellman’s heart. “I’ve never been more sure in my life.”

**Part V**

_ In which a letter is sent, a letter received, and a truth discovered _ .

_ 5th August, 1843 _

_ My darling Zelda, _

_ It shames me that I do not have the courage to say these things to you in person. I have always been a coward in that sense, as you well know. When you read this, I will have been gone for a while. I am leaving London today, immediately. I do not know where I shall go, or how long I will be away.  _

_ I want you to know how grateful I am for the gift you’ve given me. How much I admire and love you. How dearly I wish to make you proud of me, as you are indeed my utmost ideal when I think of how I should like to be when I finally become who I am to become. _

_ I don’t want you to worry about me. I know you think I am a babe in the woods, and perhaps I am indeed. My entire life, you’ve protected me. You and Edward and our parents. You’ve shielded me from the world, kept me safe, allowed me to hide from the monsters real and imagined. _

_ But Zelda, my darling sister, I cannot hide anymore. You say I must learn to shield, but what will shielding accomplish save to isolate me from my only true and unique gift? I can no longer hide behind you, behind our family and our coven. If I am to be a witch you can be proud of, a witch I can be proud of, I must run towards what frightens me, not from it. And I can’t do that in your protective shadow, sister. _

_ I fear you will worry about me. Please do not. I am not so helpless as you imagine me to be. There’s power in the quiet places, the forgotten corners no one ever explores. I will be fine. And when I return to you, I will be the Hilda you have always known I could be. _

_ Until then, take care of yourself. Be happy. Know that I love you with all my heart and soul. _

_ Yours always and forever, _

_ Hildie _

Hilda smiled as she read the faded script, so neat and precise on the delicate stationery. A single hairpin had tumbled out of the envelope, the light glinting from the tiny glass spider attached to it, and she rubbed the pads of her fingers over the delicate design.

“Whatever are you doing, Hilda?” Zelda looked over the top of her paper, taking a sip of whiskey. “You’ve been sorting through boxes all afternoon.”

Hilda smiled broadly at her sister. Zelda was the picture of grace and elegance, her hair in a neat chignon, nails perfectly manicured, a bored look of sophistication in a couture dress. “I’m making a memory book to give Sabrina for her Dark Baptism. I thought she might like to read some of her Dad’s old letters.” She folded the letter neatly, crossing the room to hand it to Zelda. “You kept this.”

Zelda retrieved her eyeglasses from the top of her head, eyeing the neat writing. With a studied indifference, she said, “It must have gotten stuck in other correspondence.”

“You were so angry with me,” Hilda remembered. “I’m surprised it didn’t burst into flames as you tossed it across the room.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Zelda retreated behind her newspaper. 

But Hilda knew better. No one knew her sister better than she, her moods, her masks. “You kept my spider pin.”

“It was a gift from Edward,” Zelda said dryly. “I knew you’d want it.”

Hilda grinned “Lost all the rest in my travels. I can’t believe you kept it.”

Zelda drew in a deep, tortured breath. “Is this going to get maudlin?”

Hilda leaned over, crushing the paper between them as she hugged her elder sister gregariously. “Horribly, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to muddle through.”

“If I must…”

Hilda laughed, sitting in the chair next to her. “I never apologized, did I? For leaving like that?”

“No, you never did.”

“I was so young…”

“ _ We _ were so young…”

Hand found hand, and Hilda squeezed Zelda’s just a little too tightly. “I’m sorry. I truly am sorry, Zelds.”

Zelda sniffed, but squeezed back. “For leaving, or for insisting on consorting with those cross-dressing vaudevillians throughout the latter part of the 19th century. What was her name? Charlotte?”

“ _ Charles _ was a legitimate stage actor, and I’ll thank you not to misgender him.” She scoffed. “Honestly, Zelda, what year do you think this is?”

“Your fetish with mortal lovers was incomprehensible to me.” Zelda folded her paper, all hope of reading in peace evaporating with Hilda’s nostalgia. “Honestly, you could have had any member of our coven. You certainly had the build for sex.”

“Zelda, let it go.” But she smiled. The argument was as old as they were, almost, and it had lost so much of its bite over the decades. “I had to find my own path, just as you had to find yours And it all turned out in the end, didn’t it? Look at us? Happy with our little family and lives, Sabrina about to sign the Dark Book. It might have been a twisting path, but at least it led back to family, right?”

“Right,” Zelda said softly. “Hilda?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you ever find it? Your path? You were so unhappy for such a long time.”

“Yeah,” Hilda said after a long moment. “Yeah, I think I figured it out. I think I know exactly what’s right for me now.”

“And what is that?” Zelda’s striking features softened slightly as she leaned in, an earnest interest on her face. “What is right for you now?”

Hilda sighed. “I’m just a kitchen witch, Zelds. Now, don’t give me that look. There’s no shame in being a kitchen witch, and I’m very good at it. I have no ambitions beyond my own little patch of life, and that’s just fine with me. I’ll leave the politics to you. You’re the one who is good at that sort of thing.” She shrugged, a content little shrug as she looked around the home they’d built together. “Nope, I’m happy just to live my life each day, without shame, without pretense, and most of all, without apologies.” She laughed at Zelda’s raised eyebrows. “I don’t always acheive that goal, but I’m a lot further along than I was before.”

A clock began to chime, and Hilda patted her knees. “Well, fun’s over. Dinner’s not going to cook itself, is it now? I have some lovely sweet potatoes from the garden I’m going to broil with the roast.”

“Sound delicious,” Zelda said, returning to her paper as Hilda stood to leave. When the blonde was halfway across the room, though, she said, “You know, Sister, that invitation still stands.” She grinned at Hilda’s confused look. “Any time you wish to join in our…” She chuckled at the old-fashioned term. “... _ frolics _ .”

Hilda laughed. “I’m more of a one-on-one kinda gal,” she admitted. “But...I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” She headed back towards the kitchen, then stopped. Turning, she crossed to where Zelda sat and leaned over, tucking the spider pin into the neat curl of Zelda’s chignon. With a tender kiss on the lips, she whispered, “I love you, Zelds.”

Zelda smiled despite herself. “I love you, too, Sister.” 

And without another word, the elder Miss Spellman returned to her newspaper, the younger MIss Spellman returned to her kitchen, and the wheel of life turned once again in harmony.

The End


End file.
